


El Atrapasueños (The Dreamcatcher)

by vogue91



Category: Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Drabble Collection, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship, Hurt, POV First Person, Regret, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 10:31:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vogue91/pseuds/vogue91
Summary: My ambitious sister... Melrose was too little for the world you were searching.And yet you would’ve never thought the world was this big, that it was going to leave marks on your skin.Nor that it was going to swallow you up whole.





	El Atrapasueños (The Dreamcatcher)

**Author's Note:**

> The story refers to the poem “The Hill” from Edgar Lee Masters, and the song Fabrizio de André based on the same poem, “Dormono sulla Collina”.

_“One after life in far-away London and Paris_

_Was brought to her little space.”_

 

I remember you as a little girl, you hanged out and breathed in. You didn’t do anything else, but it looked to me as if that simple gesture spawned of an innate sense of freedom which inhabited you, untamed.

You have always followed that craving, my little Liz. You’ve always let your mind wander past common things to elevate itself to an otherworldly realm, far from this anonymous town which has never suited your expectations.

My ambitious sister... Melrose was too little for the world you were searching.

And yet you would’ve never thought the world was this big, that it was going to leave marks on your skin.

Nor that it was going to swallow you up whole.

 

I remember the first time I saw you, Elizabeth.

Lying in the sun in the garden of your house, your eyes closed and a serene look on your face.

I fell in love with you just looking, in one moment only, and it was already too late. In your mind was growing the idea of escaping and, later I learnt that, behind the eyelids you kept closed with so much zeal there were already images of an old continent you craved to know.

Your destiny was pressing, and you had no intention to bear with it.

My sweet, little Lizzie, your own beauty has perished too soon without your skin having to bear the signs, lost in the desire to keep itself eternally unchanged.

 

A lot of girls keep a diary. You didn’t. Your diary were the ears of anyone who would listen, anyone who felt like hearing imaginary stories of lands they were probably never going to visit.

And I Liz, as your friend, have never thought that one day you could actually try to make those fairy-tales become real.

I’ve missed you since the very same moment you’ve life, but in some twisted way I was glad.

Melrose didn’t belong to you, and I felt you weren’t going to come back. My biggest mistake. You did come back, but not with the honours you would’ve wished for.

 

A flower. White, pure, like you were never going to be anymore. Death seemed to have stolen youth to your face, Lizzie. And now I feel old too, and I can't help hating you for it. You’ve made me only-begotten daughter of a family that’s now lacking _its_ flower.

You’ve withered soon, little sister. You’ve come back closed in a white coffin, because that’s how mum wanted it. It was still allowed to your eighteen years, but it clashed so hard with the way death has found you. London has eaten you down to the bone, and you’ve found out that not always dreams come true.

 

The love I had to offer wasn’t enough to satisfy your craving for life, that life you’ve followed through thousands of miles, that life which has defeated you.

Lizzie, Melrose is that piece of unworthy land which has brought you into this world, and it is that piece of unworthy land where you’re fated to rest eternally. Bruised and wasted, your face marked by men and dissolution, all things you were too young to know.

You’ve tried to follow life, then you’ve tried to run away from it.

And when it’s caught up with you, the weight of your choices has attracted it in a way too sharp to let you rest.

 

They’ve talked about your return here much less than your departure.

For months I’ve born through the slanderous voices of the town’s hags, who predicted for you an awful end in the suburbs of chaotic London.

I really wish they had been wrong, Lizzie.

Now I'm staying here, more abandoned than before, unable to remember you out loud, because I would be silenced right away.

We don’t talk about you, Elizabeth. You’re just a dim page of history which will be useful to teach us not to fly away from the nest.

But at night, when no one hears my thoughts, I'm aware of the thirst of freedom you’ve had the courage to quench.

 

_“And Lizzie who followed life, far and in England_

_was brought back to this rood of ground.”_


End file.
